Edit Before Submitting
by ShiningSugar14
Summary: You never know who's reading. AU, NeroxShelke, Shelkero. Finally revised the ending.
1. Chapter 1

Upon poking around the Blacklight forums for some inspiration, I was rewarded by an idea pistol-whipping me in the face.

Why do I do this? Plan epic works, I mean. I get sick of them within three chapters. No, I shall persevere because, for God's sake, I need some sort structure and writing may as well be it.

Dedicated to the entirety of the Blacklight forums, BriKyo and all the closeted Shelkero fans.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, any of FF7's many spin-offs, Hot Topic, Apple, AIM, Motorola flip-phones or any of the screen names listed in this fic.

* * *

**Edit Before Submitting**

Shelke rubbed blearily at her eyes. Her tirade against the goth faction of her high school had flown from her fingers for almost an hour now. She was on the verge of just letting this fall in parts, but, no, she did not become a relatively famous blogger by placing things in parts. In fact, she despised all the bloggers who did that. No endurance, in her opinion.

The entire basis for the hour-long rant had been caused by some random face in the cafeteria calling her goth. Shelke had rolled her eyes, but the comment had stuck all the way through English, Web-Page Programming and the meeting of the Computer Club after school. It echoed through her homework, her dinner with her parents, her ritualistic cleaning of her bedroom and her e-mail checks. Now it was coming out freely in her blog.

It wasn't that Shelke had anything personal against goths. She just didn't like to be lumped into them. They shopped at Hot Topic, spending ridiculous amounts of money on clothes. It was the same place that emos (something else Shelke was frequently referred to as) shopped at. In Shelke's mind, they were different, and she knew they were different, but too similar for her.

People frequently made the silly mistake of asking her what "clique" she was in and all Shelke can really do in response is shrug. The word "clique" made Shelke's head swim. On one hand, it was very easy to lump people into categories, like putting files into folders and keeping them nice and organized. On the other hand, people, unlike files, were very difficult to nail down like that. Where, for example, would she put someone who played massive amounts of sports, but did not fit the traditional "Jockish Neanderthal" stereotype that all the other jocks did?

People baffled Shelke, and bafflement was the exact reason that she had started blogging. Bafflement, unease and the need to send questions out into an almost-infinite void.

It was after 10 PM, Shelke's usual bedtime, when she finally finished her harangue, spell-checked it, proof-read it and sent it out into cyberspace. She reached a hand up to her shoulder and pressed down, stretching the muscle until she heard a very satisfying crack. Then she changed into pajamas, brushed her teeth and fell asleep.

* * *

Net Dive was Shelke's personal blog that she had started as a freshman. She had simply needed a place to store her head and writing in an actual diary made her hand hurt. So Shelke had created Net Dive on the third day of school and had stored her head there ever since. It became an obsession, especially when she discovered that people not only enjoyed hearing about her life, but also wanted her opinion on life in general. She would oblige them, if nothing earth-shattering was going on, which there rarely was. Shelke's real-life friends knew that she was the owner of Net Dive, and treated her no differently.

"Saw your post last night," one of aforementioned friends said, as they drove to school. Rather, he drove, Shelke checked his math homework for him. It was a fair trade-off, because Shelke hated the bus and he was terrible at synthetic division.

"Why were you up at 10:04 PM?" Shelke asked, unaffectedly. Her tone always came out unaffectedly, no matter how emotionally charged the topic she was speaking about was, and it bothered her sometimes. "I thought you needed to sleep because you go to practice and whatnot."

Azul shrugged. He didn't give her many answers because, to be honest, he didn't like talking. He felt that words were inefficient at conveying things. Shelke didn't like speaking either, because she felt that words were wasted too often on the wrong people. and she understood his nonverbal communication anyway.

Shelke and Azul had been friends since before Shelke could remember. In fact, Shelke couldn't really remember how they became friends in the first place. Shalua said that those were the best sort of friends, but it made Shelke wonder if they had allied over something trivial. They were a bit too different for it to have been a common hobby. Azul did sports, Shelke did not. Nonetheless, Shelke was at all of his games because she was the stats keeper for the team. All the teams that Azul was on.

When they arrived at school, they immediately parted ways because Shelke had places to be and Azul had people to see. More specifically, Azul had to eat something loaded with protein and discuss something with "The Team." Shelke had a massive amount of books to stuff into her locker, a teacher to talk about homework with, and a book to return to the library. And her cell phone to check.

After storing the physics textbook safely away in her locker, Shelke dug her Motorola out of her pocket. One text message, probably something from her college-occupied sister.

Except it wasn't. The number was unfamiliar. Shalua always put her messages in proper English, save for necessary space-saving chat-speak. She capitalized the first letter of the sentences, used punctuation, and everything else appropriate, as if she were writing a term-paper in her cell phone. This sender did not.

"_check your aim_"

At first she didn't understand it, then she did. AIM, not aim. The possibility of a virus shot through her head, but was quickly removed. Her Apple laptop was safe and sound at home, with a strong anti-virus program. She could just as easily check the messages on the dashboard for the messenger. And that could easily be accessed by any given computer in the school.

Shelke skidded into the library, loaded up the instant messenger and typed in her information. She had messages waiting for her, all from the same sender. Two were from about 10 minutes after she had posted her blog, the last was about 20 minutes ago.

"_OblivionsKeeper: i disagree with your statement about hot topic makeup._

_OblivionsKeeper: i've always found that, with the correct amount, you can frighten more people into avoiding you than people will become attracted to you._

_OblivionsKeeper: by the way, you really shouldn't store a cell phone number on your messenger._ "

Shelke's insides froze. It almost felt like someone was stalking her and that was just a creepy feeling. Feeling something reminiscent of an anxiety attack growing in her chest, Shelke immediately quelled her panic and tried to think about this logically. She looked over the messages again. This was an awful stalker. Shelke could just call this person if she very much needed to.

And she _very_ much needed to.

She stepped out of the library and dialed the number that had sent her the text. It rang twice and a very irratated-sounding male answered it.

"What?!"

"Is this the owner of this cell phone?"

"No. He's in class." There was a faint whispering rustling, as if the speaker was shifting his position on something like a pile of clothes or a bed. "Who is this?"

"Tell him not to call this number anymore." Shelke hung up, turned the phone off, put it away and ran down to the science wing.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Hurray for concrit! Many thanks to **ReadingChick** for pointing out things I need to pay attention on.

Why does Weiss love philosophy, you may ask? Because I see Weiss as someone who has a lot of time to think about a lot of different things.

Dedicated to the entirety of the Blacklight forums, BriKyo and all the closeted Shelkero fans.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, any of FF7's many spin-offs, Hot Topic, Apple, AIM, Motorola flip-phones or any of the screen names listed in this fic.

* * *

**Edit Before Submitting**

Shelke refused to discuss the random stalker with anyone, strictly because she felt there was nothing to discuss. She had dealt accordingly, immediately deleting the IM's and blocking the name OblivionsKeeper from her IM list. She also unlinked her mobile number from her screen name. It was an isolated incident, Shelke decided. Would not happen ever again because Shelke wasn't stupid enough to fall into the traditional Internet-Predator trap.

During her after-school lunch on the bleachers, reformatting her blog and waiting for Azul, Shelke's phone started ringing. "That's Shalua," she thought, gulping down a mouthful of water. "I can tell her all about this crazy eyeliner-defending person and he/she/it will leave me alone." With these comforting thoughts in mind, Shelke reached into her pocket and flipped open her phone. "Hello?"

A voice, a beautiful, male voice, smooth as sheet metal and twice as appealing, slid through the speaker and into Shelke's ear. "Is this the authoress of Net Dive?"

Shelke's spine fused and she set down the orange section she was about to pop into her mouth. "Who is this?"

"Oblivion's Keeper. Did you get my messages this morning?" His voice, it was definitely a man, had an accent. This accent probably could have gotten any straight woman to fall straight down and start foaming at the mouth in utter glee. It was that beautiful. Not Shelke. Shelke would admit to the accent being very attractive under other circumstances, but this was her cyberstalker.

"I told you not to call here." Shelke's eyes darted around the empty football field, as if this stalker was watching her.

"When?"

"This morning, a while after you sent your last message to me on AOL. I called you and someone picked up and said you were in class."

Air whistled past the phone's speakers as he tried to recall. "Oh, I know what happened. I left my cell phone at home this morning by accident and my brother must have picked up."

Shelke nodded. It made sense. It was something Shalua might have done if people were calling Shelke at home. Again, though, this was Shelke's stalker-man.

"Then I'll tell you, personally." Shelke was trying to wrap up the conversation as she saw Azul's hulking form approaching her. "Do not call this phone any more. I don't need a predator." She pressed the button to end the call, just as Azul was within hearing distance.

Shelke had various types of silences. Angry silences, confused silences, sorrowful silences. Azul, while driving Shelke home, couldn't quite place which one of her many silences this was. He sort of didn't want to ask either. Definitely none of his business.

* * *

When Shelke had hung up, Nero blinked in surprise at the "Call Ended" screen. "Rather rude of her," he murmured to himself, before setting it down on his desk and making his way to his brother's room. He knocked on Weiss' door and, upon recieved a fairly distracted grunt of consent, entered.

Nero found Weiss leaning back in his chair, with the back of his chair touching the bed, reading a philosophy book. "Weiss, did you happen to pick up my phone at all today?"

"Er..." Weiss lifted his eyes from the book to answer properly. "Yeah, a girl called when you left for class. She sounded sort of angry." Weiss made sure of his page before setting the book face-down on his desk. "Why?"

"That was Shalua's sister, Shelke. The webmistress."

"The one you worship."

"I do not worship her, Weiss. I'm just extremely fond of her."

"Alright, Nero," Weiss chuckled. "Still, that was her?" Nero nodded as Weiss put his chair down. "They sound nothing alike."

"No, they don't." Nero leaned against the doorframe. "Weiss, I'm afraid I might have done something stupid."

"You can still change your major, Nero. It's not too late get into philosophy."

Nero just looked at him. "No. I mean I think I've fallen in love with the mind of someone whom, at best, I barely know. At worst, I've fallen head over heels in love with someone who can't stand me."

"I know the feeling," Weiss replied with a wistful sigh.

"Your mad love affair with the Greek philosophers in ninth grade doesn't count. All of them are dead."

"Then I have no frame of reference whatsoever."

Stretching against his brother's doorframe, Nero raised his arms above his head, as if trying to get some answers from the ceiling panels. "I mean, if I had started with her body, then that would have been fine and normal and all. But, for God's sake, I'm in love with her opinion and the way she expresses herself and her diction."

Weiss shrugged. "I fail to see anything wrong with that. You know it's not a shallow love or an infatuation or anything. You've followed that damn journal of hers for almost three years."

Nero covered his face with his hands. "Do you want to hear something utterly pathetic?"

"Not really, mostly because you're not a pathetic person and we both know you're not."

"No, I know I'm not, but this is particularly awful." Nero took his hands off his face, sat on the edge of Weiss' bed and looked Weiss in his eyes. "Our first exchange, if you can call it that, was about the pros and cons of Hot Topic eyeliner. _Eyeliner_, Weiss."

"Uh-huh..." Weiss leaned back in his chair again and eyed his book. "Nero, do you want my advice on the situation?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have bothered you during your 'alone time' with Immanuel Kant if I wasn't in crisis."

"You're hardly in crisis, darling little brother. Listen to me. Go eat something, get online, apologize for being a creeper at first, and try to actually, you know, meet her face-to-face before you go saying you're in love."

"Yes, Weiss." Nero got up off the bed. "Thanks."

"Mmm..."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Bit of a delay on this. I wasn't sure where I wanted it to go until I was sitting in Study Hall and said, "Okay, lets do this."

I'm nervous about writing Shalua. I'm used to writing Weiss, he's easy to me, but Shalua? Ugh...

Dedicated to the entirety of the Blacklight forums, BriKyo and all the closeted Shelkero fans.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, any of FF7's many spin-offs, Hot Topic, Apple, AIM, Motorola flip-phones or any of the screen names listed in this fic.

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**Edit Before Submitting**

Nero sat in front of his laptop, looking completely defeated. As his brother, Weiss was concerned and sat down to observe what had Nero so very down-and-out. Nero's background and his messenger were the only things present on the screen. Weiss decided that, unless there was something utterly awful about the fields stretching out into an imaginary horizon, it must have been the messenger, so he scanned the names. He, Weiss, was online. Rosso, who they rarely associated with, was online. Argent, in the same boat as Rosso, was online. And someone named Transparent_Rui. Weiss could put two and two together.

"So talk to her already."

"I can't. She's blocked this account. I'm just wondering how to remedy the current situation."

"Use my account and say something to her." Weiss logged Nero out and signed him into his own account. He heard the ding of his own laptop signing off from his bedroom.

"Nothing I say can yank me out of this hole I've dug for myself." Nero frowned and prodded the mouse so that his screen saver would dissolve. "Anything I say makes me sound even worse. Foot in mouth syndrome, I think it's called."

Weiss sighed. Really, but Nero could be dramatic. "Watch, its easy." He swiveled the keyboard over to himself and began typing.

"Weiss, don't." But Nero made no move to stop him.

"Sorry for being creepy at first. I only want to be friends. Start over?" Weiss read aloud. Turning to his brother, Weiss added, "Really, Nero, you need to stop being afraid of girls."

"I'm not afraid of her. I'm afraid of never anulling my 'Creepy Net Stalker' status with her." Nero sighed as Weiss stared into the LCD screen, as if it contained the answers to the universe. "It's hopeless, Weiss."

Snapping away from his trance with the screen, Weiss regarded Nero. "Nero, do you know what you're afraid of?"

"Armageddon, clowns and drowning?"

"Taking risks." With that, Weiss pressed 'Enter' and sent the message off. "I've just pushed you into the ultimate skydive. Have fun... And try typing in proper English, none of that no-caps stuff you do."

* * *

That night, after her homework, dinner and ritualistic cleaning of her room, Shelke sat down, loaded Net Dive and typed out a very lengthy rant against the idea of placing her mobile number on her messenger, and subtly attacked the creators of AOL by saying that they were problably running some sort of child-slave drive and was considering switching her account name. No more than ten minutes after she had posted it, Shelke was getting into her pajamas when a message came up. No doubt, someone just _needing_ to disagree. Or maybe AOL was suing her.

"_Immaculate3mpr: Sorry for being creepy at first. I only want to be friends. Start over?_"

Shelke's heart froze up before she sat down.

"_Transparent_Rui: Who is this?_"

_"Immaculate3mpr: Oblivion, on my brother's account. Could we start over?"_

"_What's your real name? Really._"

"_My name is Nero_," the reply came. "_I am 23 years old. Blood type A. Male. Caucasian. Would you like my nationality as well? I warn you, my lineage is rather long._"

"_Quit mocking me_," Shelke fumed as she typed it.

"_Sorry. Listen, I didn't mean any harm. If it makes you feel any differently about me, I do know your sister, Shalua._"

* * *

Shelke wandered onto her sister's college campus the next day. At minimum, Shelke wanted answers. At most, she wanted a face-to-face meeting with Nero in a public place, in broad daylight, with Shalua very present. According to the e-mailed schedule Shalua had sent Shelke at the beginning of the semester, Shalua would be leaving an English class in the Shin-Ra Archives very shortly. So Shelke sat down outside of the ivy-covered building and waited.

She did not wait long, maybe five minutes, before Shalua walked down over the stairs in a small group of people. Shelke recognized Vincent and Reeve as friends that Shalua had brought over for dinner once. The other two men with them were not recognizable. Shelke approached the group, nonetheless.

"Shalua," Shelke addressed her sister slowly, as if she would scare her by saying the name faster.

Shalua's face broke into a huge smile upon the sight of her younger sister. They didn't see each other very often, so a meeting was rare between them. "Shelke!" As they hugged (Shalua a bit more enthusiastic than Shelke), one of the men Shelke wasn't familiar with let out a noise between a squeak and a yelp. The other man elbowed him, gently.

"It's good to see you again, Shelke." Reeve smiled. Shelke liked Reeve. Not like that. "But what's the occasion?"

"I needed to talk to Shalua." Completely unabashed of this incident, Shelke addressed Shalua again. "Someone has been stalking me on AIM and says he knows you. I think he said his name was Nero, but he didn't give me a last name."

The same man let out another noise. Shalua and Reeve exchanged devious grins and the corners of Vincent's mouth turned upwards. Shelke definitely liked Vincent. Again, not like that. Never like that. "Nero isn't a very common name, so I don't think you'd need a last name."

"Sh-Shalua," the squeaking man said, carefully. "We've been friends for about a year now and I don't think you need to-"

"Shelke," Shalua said, getting behind him and pushing the man forward. "This is Nero Croce."

Shelke looked at him. His hair was an inky black color that trailed down his back and his eyes were an orange-red shade. It might have been unusual but Shelke was already acquainted with Vincent. He looked extremely nervous, about as nervous as Shelke felt, but there was something very... poised about the way he carried himself. As if he was nervous, but it was a very graceful sort of anxiety.

And, of course, he was wearing Hot Topic eyeliner in an understated shade of black. At least he wasn't wearing those weird pants that Hot Topic-shoppers were famous for.

"A pleasure to meet you... Miss Rui? Shelke?" His cultured accent, the one from the phone conversation yesterday, leaked into the cordiality. The voice was definitely more attractive in person.

"Shelke is fine." She extended her hand to him. "Pleased to meet you."

"You sound almost unsure," the other man with them chuckled.

Nero whirled around. "Weiss, don't be rude."

"Nero, shake her hand already."

With the back of his neck turning a light pink and to the amusement of his friends, Nero reached forward and shook her hand. For a bizarre moment, Shelke thought that Nero was going to kiss her hand, but he didn't. His hands were soft and warm, but his grip was firm.

"So... Ah..." Nero was tragic with ice-breakers. He just was.

Shalua seemed to sense that, thank God. "Shelke, we were going ot get something off campus. Wanna come along and I'll drop you off at home afterwards?"

"Sure."

That morning, Shelke had helped an older neighbor pick up some spilled pages from the morning paper. Shelke would always chalk up what had happened to her that day with Nero as a result of the good karma she had accumulated with that act.


	4. Chapter 4

Writing this dramatically improves my self-esteem. I think it's the wonderful, highly supportive reviews that I've been getting lately. So, thank you. No, really, don't proceed to the next paragraph. Thank You.

Dedicated to the entirety of the Blacklight forums, BriKyo and all the closeted Shelkero fans.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, any of FF7's many spin-offs, Edgar Allen Poe, AIM, Cinnamon Toast Crunch or laser tag.

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**Edit Before Submitting**

The rest of the week went by without incident. Nero went to and from his classes, Shelke went to and from her classes. Nero wrote novel-length papers about science and math, Shelke wrote novel-length blog entries about the annoyance of "Basketball dads." They both went about their daily lives before Nero had sent that first crazy message.

Late Saturday morning, while Shelke was spooning Cinnamon Toast Crunch into her mouth while reading the next act of "Hamlet", her cell phone rang. Thankful for the break from the world of possibly faked neurosis and doormat women, Shelke retrieved her phone.

"Hello?"

"Shelke? It's Nero."

"Oh... Hi." Shelke leaned back against her headboard. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. The blog last night was excellent. Really-" Nero's voice cut off midsentence. There was a fair bit of tussling in the background accompanied by low hissing before Nero cleared his throat. "Are you doing anything... tomorrow?"

Not really, Shelke thought. Aside from vacuuming under her bed, reorganizing her closet by length (as opposed to color), re-reading some very old novels and maybe messing with the code on her blog, Shelke was doing very little tomorrow. "Not really. Why?"

"I was hoping we could spend some time together, around the town." Nero cleared his throat. "Get something to eat. The usual."

"Are you asking me out?" Shelke deadpanned. She had heard the gossipy girls in her class discuss dates once. As far as Shelke could see it, they typically started with food and hanging out and usually ended in a physical altercation that Shelke _really_ didn't see herself having.

"No. No more than, say, Reeve would be asking you out. I'm asking to spend time with you as a friend, Shelke. I want to know you better."

"You barely know me now."

"Therein lies why we should spend tomorrow together. Please?"

* * *

Shelke found herself sitting in Seventh Heaven the next morning. It was her workplace on fast days and was her hangout on the slow ones. It was also a restaurant-cum-bar and the home of the best triple-shot espresso _in the world_. Shelke would swear on that.

It was one of these corpse-reviving espressos that Shelke found herself staring at while she waited for Nero to arrive. They had agreed on 12:30PM and it was about 12:24. Shelke, being very attached to the place in question and having a tendency to arrive to predetermined locations extremely early, had been there since about 12:15.

When people would expect men who dressed like Poe-esque-asylum victims to arrive for a meeting at any given location, people would expect those men to come slinking out of an alleyway or, even better, appear directly behind them via either creepy telekinesis or a convieniently placed back door that only they knew about. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Shelke was probably expecting Nero's entrance to be similar to that. Instead, she watched Nero stroll rather nonchalantly past the store window and into the establishment as if he were a regular.

"You're early," she commented as he sat down.

"As are you."

They sat in a very companionable silence for twenty minutes after that exchange. The only other words were placing orders for drinks; Sprite for Shelke, Iced Tea for Nero. Shelke was expecting Nero to be noisy, or talkative, or figety. Just some minor flaw that would make Nero irratating to be around. He wasn't. Shelke had cast her eye over to him twice and, both time, he sat with his mouth obscured by his hand, staring off into space, beautiful and still as a statue of Adonis.

Shelke's voice broke the silence. "So, what exactly did you have in mind?"

"I don't know." Nero didn't break his gaze. "What do you enjoy doing? Where would you like to go?"

Shelke didn't really have a response for that. Most of her spare time was spent in the quiet reaches of cyberspace or in the depths of her PC, upgrading it. Aside from school and Best Buy, Shelke didn't find herself anywhere that could be considered enjoyable.

"I don't know. It's nice here."

"It's very nice here. I love it here."

"Are you agreeing with me because you enjoy being agreeable?"

"No, I'm agreeing with you because Tifa's coffee can be used as holy water in an emergency exorcism. It _is_ that pure." Shelke knew that reverent tone, having used it many times herself; Nero had probably drank gallons of this coffee to finish some long assignment that had probably been put off until the last second.

Another silence, this one lasting only five seconds. "What do you enjoy doing?"

"Tormenting WalMart employees, frightening Hot Topic mall rats and cutting open dead people." A disturbed look cut across Shelke's face. "I'm in school to become a coroner." Her shoulders visibly dropped and she took a small sip of carbonated joy. "I don't still scare you that much, do I?"

"It's difficult not to be slightly intimidated by a man who you met via random instant messaging."

"True. Well, I like dark places with lots of noise. And running."

"I like..." Shelke thought. "Bright lights, colors, lots of wiring."

"Hmm... Sounds like a good comprimise is laser tag."

Shelke felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards. "It's exactly like laser tag."

* * *

"You lose," Nero dramatically proclaimed as he placed the gun against Shelke's back. "Any last words?"

"Two." Shelke smirked and shot her gun directly behind her. "Not yet."

"Damn." Nero pouted as the sensor on his chest started blinking red. "I have to cut the drama." Nero observed three-or-so small children run by, specifically not shooting him because their parents would have told them not to.

"Don't. It's funny." Shelke smiled. Genuinely smiled.

He only had about five hits left. Shelke still had seven. "Okay, so we disperse again." Nero turned around and began his counting. "One, two, three..."

Shelke took off running down a random neon-dotted corridor. Laser tag was actually better than cyberspace and, since her first trip when she was six, it was one of her least disclosed passions. But Shalua was eternally busy, Azul wasn't exactly built for laser tag, and, beyond the age of six, playing laser tag with her parents was just bizarre.

Nero got into it though, which is precisely what Shelke did. He seemed to blend into the enviornment, decked out in his black. His aim turned out to be faux-deadly accurate. And, of course, the dramatic proclamations were amusing.

In fact, now that Shelke had their agreed upon ten seconds to muse about it, Nero was almost everything like her. Nero could sit in a perfectly non-hostile silence for a twenty minute stretch with no problem at all, just as she could. Nero was capable of getting crazy over something silly like laser tag. He was unorthodox, intelligent, funny and, yes, attractive.

Shelke was not a denial-filled, angst-ridden teenager. She knew a crush when she had one.

The sensor glowed red, stirring Shelke from her revelry. "I got you," Nero said, smiling a bit.

Yep, he got her.

* * *

I am sooo sorry this took so long to type. I got stuck at a few points, but when I got away from it, the ideas flowed like water. Well, here's the latest, with an added thanks for being so patient.

Update (4/17): I only went back and corrected the spelling mistakes. Thanks to the people who pointed them out. Extra thanks to ReadingChick, who pointed out the formatting issue. 's editing system dislikes me.


	5. Chapter 5

Getting a bit further into the plot. Even though I think I'm moving too fast. I think this will be done in a few chapters or so, but I've got a WeissNeroShelke stashed in my back pocket for later. Plus, a WeissNero that I'm incubating the plot for. My obsession with Dirge fanfiction is far from over, even when this gets completed.

Dedicated to the entirety of the Blacklight forums, BriKyo and all the closeted Shelkero fans.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, any of FF7's many spin-offs, or laser tag.

* * *

**Edit Before Submitting**

"It's hopeless!" Nero cried out as he entered the dorm room. "Utterly, completely, terribly hopeless!"

Weiss looked up to calmly observe Nero's melodrama. "She turned you down?"

"No. I didn't tell her about that. Could you have?"

Weiss nodded in the affirmative.

Nero rolled his eyes. "Well that's you." He flopped onto the couch next to Weiss. "I've fallen completely in love now. Like, before, it was just her mind. But, no, now I find her attractive, she and I are compatible mentally... Ugh! I can actually _see_ myself pursuing this."

"Go for it." Weiss took a bite of his apple. "She likes you too, right?"

"I don't know... She's very..." Nero sighed. "She isn't as blunt as you and I are with each other. Shelke keeps to herself. Think about this, Weiss. For twenty minutes, Shelke and I sat in completely still silence. It was _amazing_."

"Aw..." Weiss reached a mocking hand over to mess up Nero's hair. "My widdle Nero found someone to spend the rest of his faux-tormented life with."

"I don't pretend to be tormented, Weiss. We had a happy childhood and, unlike ninety-percent of teenagers, I'm secure with that." Nero got up to wash the eyeliner off his face.

Weiss abandoned his laptop to follow him to the bathroom. It was normal for Weiss to continue trailing Nero after he hadn't gotten his point across, even into the bathroom. Weiss leaned against the doorway. "If you're in love, you should go for it. You two should get together and get a house and a kid and live the American dream in the slightly twisted way only you can live the American life."

"I don't want children," Nero protested from his position in the sink. "They're too loud for me."

"Get a houseplant or a dog or something then. My point is that you're stalling for nothing."

"Not for nothing. I don't know how she feels, and that's one of the most important points of a relationship." Nero took a palmful of water to his face. "Besides, I find dating repulsive."

"I know that. You're an old-time romantic. 'Courting' and whatnot." Weiss handed Nero a towel. "So, confess your feelings in a modern fashion, because she won't get it otherwise, without the awkward crazy of modern-day dating."

Nero looked at Weiss. "What?"

Weiss approached Nero and took both of his hands, holding them palm-up. "Nero, I want you to pretend that this," indicating Nero's left hand, "represents the values of old times dating. Courting, asking parental permission to even become a boyfriend, et cetera. Do you follow me so far?"

"Yes?"

Indicating Nero's right hand, Weiss continued. "This represents today's modern-day approach to courting. Clandestine meetings, crazy drunken parties, random sex, you get the idea."

Nero stared at that particular hand, as if it were dirty. "What's your point?"

Weiss placed Nero's palms together. "The contradicting points have disappeared. What is left?" Weiss paused for effect. "Blunt honesty." Dropping Nero's hands, Weiss placed his hands on Nero's shoulders and looked his brother in the eye. "Go. Tell. Her. Tomorrow. Or I. Will castrate. You."

* * *

Over dinner at their parents' house, Shelke recounted her not-date to Shalua. Only Shalua, since the parents were out on a date. The irony _did_ smack Shelke in the face, actually. "It was excellent."

"And you like him?"

"Yeah..." Shelke smirked a little bit, twirling a bit of pasta on her fork. Shalua's pasta was better than any restaurant. "He understood the laser tag thing."

Shalua's eyes widened. "Really? Huh. Even I don't get the laser tag thing with you."

"He does." The sentence was too short, conspicuously short, and Shelke stuffed another shell into her mouth.

Shalua was _very_ familiar with this technique. It was Shelke's famous technique for keeping information far, far away from other individuals. She leaned forward. "Shelke, what aren't you telling me?"

Shelke swallowed very deliberately. "I... Am not going to tell you what I'm hiding in this situation."

Shalua waved her hand a few times. "Oh, wait, wait!" Shelke's stomach tightened as Shalua pointed her fork at her. "You _like_ him. Of course."

If this had been anyone else, Shelke could have easily denied it. She could have said that her mother was crazy or tell Azul, not that he would ever ask about her non-existant love life, to mind his own business. But this was Shalua and, try as Shelke might, she could not lie to her.

"Yes, okay. I like him."

"Does he know?" Shelke looked at Shalua silently. "Of course not. You wouldn't admit it to him ever."

"Exactly."

"Are you waiting for him to say something then?"

Shelke stared down at the pasta. "I don't know what I'm waiting for. I like him. I don't know if he likes me, but the worst he can do is turn me down, and it's not like I'll have lost anything." As she pierced a shell with her fork, Shelke suddenly knew her problem. "It's too soon. I've technically only known him for, what, about a week?"

"But you genuinely like him, which is more than some of the people on our campus can say." Shalua motioned with her fork. "You like Nero, despite his drama and his eyeliner and his fascination with cutting dead people open. No one we know likes him like that without wanting to change him. Rosso thinks he needs to, and I quote, 'man up', Argent doesn't like his eyeliner, and everyone else is creeped out by the whole coroner thing."

"The point, Shalua?"

Shalua set down her fork. "My point is that you actually like him, for him, without wanting to change a thing. I don't know how he feels, but if I had someone who I felt that way for, I'd definitely tell him."

Shelke processed that. Shalua was right. She really ought to at least tell Nero how she felt. It would be easy. She could just call him right now, it wasn't that late at night. Or put it in an IM. Something. With this in mind, Shelke withdrew her cell phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Telling him how I feel."

Shalua reached out and put her hand over the phone. "No, no. Tell him in person. Just take my word for that."

"But the sooner, the better, right?"

Shalua shook her head, got up and proceeded to clear their plates. "Just trust me. This is the sort of thing you tell someone in person."

* * *

ASDFJKL;!!!! Not the conclusion after this, but probably quite close.


	6. Chapter 6

**Edit Before Submitting**

Shelke stared, long and hard, at the phone. She was determined to make it ring. It _would _ring, and it would be one of Nero's random calls, asking her what she was doing at such-and-such a time. Shelke would say nothing, even if her schedule was completely full. She would make room. Nero would say that he wanted to see her. Shelke would agree, they would meet later and...

There. That was where Shelke's head would draw a blank. She wasn't quite sure what would happen and that just plain unnerved her. She was _Shelke_. She _always_ knew what was going to happen because life was simple and predictable like that. Not anymore though, if her current state was any indication.

Shelke sighed, woke up her computer and wrote a long blog entry about uncertainty and how despicable it truly was. Then an idea smacked her upside the head and she paused, with her eyes boring into the "Submit" button. She had never used her blog as a personal communication tool before. Just a diary. But everything was being shaken these days, so why the hell not?

At the end of the blog, Shelke added a postscript:

"OblivionsKeeper, please contact me soon. I need to speak to you."

Shelke shook her head. Too desperate. She deleted it and tried again:

"OblivionsKeeper, I have something to tell you. Please call me."

No... Just no... Deleting the line, Shelke was about to try one more time, when her phone buzzed next to her hand. Snatching it before it even got through it's buzz, Shelke answered the call. "Hello?"

"Shelke, its Nero."

"Oh... Hi..." Shelke felt her face heat up and pressed her cool palm against her warm face. Blushing was embarassing, even over the phone.

"Are you-?"

"I'm not busy for the whole week." There was a pause on the phone and Shelke administered a mental bitchslap to herself. For God's sake... "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed you were asking whether or not I was busy."

"No, that was... precisely what I was going to ask. I just didn't expect you to hit the nail upon the head so quickly. I need to speak to you. Immediately. It's rather important."

"I can see you tomorrow, after school," Shelke replied.

"Good. Wonderful." She could almost see the smile through the phone. "I look forward to it. Good night, Shelke."

"Right. Okay... Good night." Shelke hung up and sighed.

* * *

Nero had never felt really self-conscious of his height, nor had he ever really felt old in comparison to other people. But walking onto the freshman-laden high school campus made him feel pretty tall and extremely old.

It wasn't fear of Weiss that had gotten Nero to speak to Shelke so quickly. It was his feelings, eating away at him. He either needed to tell her or break the connection forever. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if it went any other way.

There was Shelke, sitting on the steps, scanning the crowd, probably looking for him. If the situation weren't as serious as it was, Nero would have considered jogging to the back of the school, convincing someone to let him in and approaching her from behind. But no, this wasn't the day or the time. Instead, Nero approached her head-on.

"Hello, Shelke."

"Nero." Shelke stood up and hefted her bag onto her slim shoulder. "Listen, I need to tell you something. It's important."

"My reason is also important. It's half the reason we're here."

"The other half being my reason." Shelke and Nero had a quick stare down, which Shelke broke and Nero understood why. They were acting like elementary school kids.

"We're... About to say the same thing, aren't we?"

"I don't know." Nero adjusted his collar, a nervous gesture that Weiss probably would have shot down in a second. He was also avoiding her eyes, textbook nervousness, period. "I'm... Er..."

"This isn't the place," Shelke suddenly said.

"I'm sorry?"

"This isn't the place that we should be carrying on this conversation. It's too public for this sort of thing."

Nero nodded. Right. She didn't want to reject him in public. It made sense.

"Where would you like to be for this, then?"

* * *

Shelke hadn't been able to picture this meeting, let alone envision the place it would occur in, but one of the last places she thought this would happen in was in a nearly deserted Seventh Heaven. Nonetheless, that's where it was happening, with Shelke and Nero sitting on opposite sides of a back table, far from the gossip-seeking ears of any of Seventh Heaven's employees.

"So... Ah... We've known each other for about a week now," Nero began. He hadn't touched the black coffee in front of him. It was alright though, because Shelke hadn't touched the orange juice either. She didn't even like orange juice that much, but it was cold and bright colored and she could stare at it, watching the glass condensate.

Stupid, Shelke decided. She had been completely stupid. Even if Nero did like her, she looked like she was about twelve. It wasn't pedophilia- Shelke had turned 18 last month - But the fact of the matter was that-

"Shelke, I think I like you," Nero quietly blurted into the silence.

There was a pindrop silence. Shelke blinked in a deliberate manner. He couldn't have said that. No, Shelke must have misheard him.

"Come again?"

"Shelke, I like you. In fact, I love you, but I figured love would be just a tad too creepy for us only knowing each other for a week."

"Techincally, you've known me since you've read my blog," Shelke responded on auto-pilot while her brain processed what Nero had just said.

Love was a word Shelke didn't toss around casually. It was, in Shelke's mind, a special word reserved for only certain people. She was certain that, if she had constructed a fairly accurate portrait of Nero, he wouldn't toss that word around casually either.

"I suppose so."

Shelke had only been at a loss for words twice in her life. Once when she was six and her grandmother died, Shelke hadn't been able to find any sort of noun, verb or adjective to describe the loss. The second time was when she was 14 and met Azul for the first time, and Shelke still can't describe him to people who hadn't already met him. This would be the third time, this awkward situation of wanting to convey how she felt but being completely unable to do so. "I... Uhm... I..."

"Nevermind," Nero interupted. "It was silly of me to think that this could be more than a friendship. Now, I'll just..."

Shelke's fight-or-flight senses kicked in right there. "I like you too."

It was Nero's turn to widen his eyes and stare directly at Shelke. "Beg pardon?"

"I like you too. I have liked you for... About three days now. I... Uh... You said you loved me? Well, I.. I don't know about love yet. But, give me time. I like you."

"Oh... Well... Uhm... That's... That's good then... That's... Er... "

Somehow, that made everything more awkward, but it was a comfortable awkward. They drank their drinks in silence, paid in silence and proceeded to walk towards Shelke's house in silence. On the sidewalk, before Shelke even stepped up on the property, they faced each other.

"So... Will we... Uhm...?" Nero wasn't looking at Shelke, but looking at a streetlamp, as if it was the most fascinating object in the world. Shelke felt her face burst into flames.

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Y-Yes... Certainly. Same time as today?"

"No, I have something for the basketball team to work on. Evening? It's a Friday."

"Yes. Alright."

Then, much to Shelke's surprise, Nero leaned down and firmly pressed his lips against Shelke's cheek. It was a platonic sort of kiss, much like the sort her mother gave her, but this was just so _different_, for lack of a better word, and it left Shelke a bit dizzy.

"Good night, Shelke."

"Y-Yes. Good night."

And it was.

(REVISED) END!!

* * *

Okay, so lets see. The original "Edit Before Submitting" was completed May 1st. It's July 6th now. I could lie and say that I was "getting a fresh perspective" but I respect my readers too much; I was a victim of procrastination. Gawd, it doesn't even really look like I did much to it.

I kept the original ending, but just added more detail and explanation because I like the ending. It's realistic, I think, and I can't really see Shelke getting swept off her feet into an emotional-passion thing without becoming extremely OOC. So, that's why the ending is the same.

So, I torched "Help Wanted" because it's not really going anywhere but I've got this dark little WeissNeroShelke thing I'm working on that doesn't even have a title yet. It seems overly dramatic to me, so I'm probably going to ask my roommate to beta it for me when I get to school.

Thanks for reading, including the revised ending. There might be an epilogue or a sequel, but I doubt it.


End file.
